


To Thy Own Self Be True

by Darklady



Series: Prolix-verse [4]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Kinky, M/M, you are already warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-15
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 10:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/405568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darklady/pseuds/Darklady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce Wayne and Batman both use Dick to deal with their emotions. (For multiple meanings of 'dick'.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Thy Own Self Be True

**Author's Note:**

> I so do not own these characters. I just play with them. Sometimes I play rough.

Bruce Wayne sat at his study desk, picking apart Powers latest joint-venture proposal and occasionally brushing his mostly-soft cock when it twitched against the ice-slick silk of his pajamas. Dick was out of town, Titans business. That, more then this latest attempt at commercial fraud, was responsible for the Gotham tycoon’s bad mood. No Dick meant no *dick* - and Wayne felt he was far too mature to be reduced to amusing himself.

Grayson should have been back tonight. That, more then any business duties, was keeping Wayne aware and at his desk. He glanced again at the clock. After 2 am. Realistically, he knew he should go to bed. Richard would come by in the morning. If he came to Gotham at all.

Had he been any other man - or even if the report before him had been of any real interest - he would have missed the movement from the Grandfather clock. A movement somehow slower, less victorious then his memory required. 

“Who was it?” Bruce asked the vague shadow.

“Two Face.” The growl brought the shadow into caped focus.

“Harvey?” The thought of Bruce's once-friend and allies turned criminal was never a pleasant one. “Damn. If only...” How could he finish that? If only he had loved Harvey more? If only Harvey had loved him more?

“He made his choice.” The dark voice gave little expression to the regret that was there. There was neither reason nor need. Dent had made his choice. The Batman would have to find some way to live with it. No sorrow, no regret, could change what now was.

True enough, Bruce thought as he stood. Harvey had made choice after choice in his climb to glory, and at they end they had plunged him into damnation. True and sad, for unlike the Bat Bruce Wayne was still willing to honor the possibilities of Harvey Dent. To remember the brilliant light that had shone so briefly before the world had dimmed it. Bruce knew the Batman remembered likewise - and likewise mourned. Perhaps it was more the remembrance of a fallen comrade then the grief for a lost lover - but he still mourned. And when Two-Face took to the streets of Gotham and faced the Batman in warring madness, the loss transformed into a pain as sharp as that loss. Sharper then whatever physical injury the Batman had met in the process.

Without thought - for if he *had* thought he would not have done it - Bruce Wayne grabbed the black-clad shoulders and spun the stone-set face into his open lips.

There was a moment’s pause, then the hard lips opened. 

Pain transformed to need, and need to lust. Too heated to negotiate, the two muscled forms plunged against each other, matching thrust for thrust and stroke for stroke. Half aiding, half hindering, limbs wrapped and reached for well-known points of pleasure.  
Tongues met fiercely as black-gloved fingers twisted into fragile silk and pulled the wearer hard against a kevlar-covered chest. Flanged cuffs snagged the delicate threads as well-muscled arms stroked down the broad back beneath them. One equally strong forearm reached past layers of nomex cape, as callused fingertips sought the rare bits of skin between cowl and neck. The other traveled down to where a well-hidden zipper linked the torso of the Batsuit. A few quick maneuvers and the firm ass under the black armor was suddenly accessible to a massaging palm.

Papers scattered as silk-covered thighs were pushed back to perch at the edge of the gleaming desktop. Fingers gloved and bare joined forces against the drawstring that dangled just below Bruce's navel and tapped now and then on his growing hardness. One pull and the knot was vanquished, surrendering new territory to the advancing hands.

One rope scratched palm formed a tunnel around the exposed column, stroking from base to head, urging the turgid flesh to still greater fullness. The other reached under one knee, urging the long legs up and revealing the tight passage that was the inevitable goal of this exploration. Black leather pressed into the entry, stinging slightly at he hard muscle yielded to force.

That and the cold air on this parted thighs brought Bruce Wayne back just slightly from passion.

“Upstairs.” He pulled his lips free to speak to a pointed ear. “I don't keep lube in this desk. And I’m not about to be dry-humped. No matter *what* you might like.”

“I did not...,” the voice growled, but the blunt leather pressing at Bruce Wayne's back passage refuted any denial.

“Don’t lie to me.” Bruce Wayne pulled his pants up and retied the cord. “I’m you.”

They said nothing on the trip up the winding stairs. Nor in the hallway that lead to the master bedroom. Nor as Bruce pulled off his pajamas and draped them over the valet. Nor when he reached into the nightstand for the tube of lubricant. Only when they came to the wide bed did Bruce Wayne break the silence.

“Stay dressed.”

The Dark Knight nodded, but said nothing.

Rolling to the mattress, Bruce grabbed the pillow and tucked it under his belly as the dark figure unfastened his groin guard. Leather gloved hands parted the upturned ass cheeks. A chill second before the slick gel warmed against tender flesh. A quick preparation, but effective, before the blunt head pressed past the ring of muscle.

Wayne grunted and forced himself to relax.

Unyielding hands gripped slim hips, holding them up for unimpeded entry. Bruce pulled his knees up, partially for support and partially to open himself further to the demands of the invading shaft. He was rewarded with a deeper entry as the wide cock plunged to its full length and two familiar balls brushed against their twins. Swift hard strokes pistoned between his wide-spread cheeks. There was no sound except the slap of balls and the fierce pleasure when the flared head brushed over the sensitive gland.

One black-gloved hand circled around his bouncing cock, holding it with a firm pressure that only increased with each stroke that thrust Wayne's shaft deeper into its grip.

The caped figure made no noise, but his quick breathing revealed his pleasure.

A final push straight to his prostate brought Bruce spilling out over the sheets with a fierce pulse joining pleasure and pain. With the same thrust came the fluid rush of warmth as the dark warrior released himself deeply within his other self.

The collapsed together in a tangle of bedspread and cape.

Dick stood at the door.

“Vicky told you you had an unhealthy relationship with the Bat.”

He laughed and strode to the bed.

“For all the times I told you to go fuck yourself - I never thought I’d get the chance to see it.”

“Your not...angry?” The question came from Bruce Wayne.

“How much did your see?” That was the inquiry of the Bat.

“Enough to know you’ve been holding back on me.” Dick’s swift glance took in the crushed pillows and the crumpled cape. “Holy...” he shook his head. “Does that bring back memories?”

Folding his leather jacket over the back, the jean-clad young man dropped into the bedside chair. His gaze took in both figures impartially. “You should have told me what you wanted.”

“But I...” Bruce Wayne started with a stammer, then fell silent. He was a good liar, but under the circumstances? 

“Should remember where you packed away all our old toys?” A warm perusal of the headboard gave the worlds extra meaning.

“I do not...” the dark voice began, only to be cut off by Grayson’s knowing grin.

“Really? I recall there was one time over the hood of the Batmobile....” The grin softened and grew wistful. “Ghod, I felt that for days.”

The lower man shifted sideways, striving to look somehow less vulnerable. That is a difficult thing to accomplish when naked and sex-marked - even for someone as naturally self-possessed as Bruce Wayne.

“Dick, I’m sorry if...”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” He leaned down to place a tender kiss on the exposed shoulder. “This wanting is a part of you, Bruce. And heavy sex is a part of the Bat. And I love you both.”

 

OK – so that is THE END.  
Deo Gratia.

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©KKR 2011


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